Now was her chance. Or was it? Something didn’t feel right. It was a sensation, a premonition she’d had a few times. She couldn’t place it, but Adriana was overwhelmed by the feeling that this whole thing was a trap. It was too easy. Wasn’t it? Why would a man like Martens only have one guard outside his home?
Something cracked behind her. Adriana spun around and instantly ducked to the right, narrowly missing a fist emanating from the shadows. The man’s face was covered with a ski mask, but she could see the whites of his eyes and the pale skin around them. The rest of his body came into view a half second later. Her right hand whipped the knife around at the attacker’s abdomen, hoping to let his momentum carry him into the blade’s sharp edge. He jumped at the last second, though, lifting one boot over her swing and sending the other into the side of her face.
A sudden, jolting pain shot through her cheek, but she’d had worse and the blow only knocked her back temporarily. Fueled with anger, she rolled to the side and pushed herself up off the ground. Still clutching the knife in one hand, Adriana flipped it around and sprang.
She went for the neck first, always her primary target when it came to knife fighting. It was something she’d learned at a young age. Someone with a stab wound to nearly any body part can keep fighting. But a neck wound could kill the enemy in less than a minute.
She swiped the tip at the man’s bare throat, but he easily sidestepped it and circled a hand around to grab her wrist. Her momentum carried her too close and he punched out with the other fist, but she was quicker with her knee, driving it up into his groin before he could land the blow. Instantly debilitated, the man hunched over in nauseating agony. As he doubled over, Adriana swung the tip of her knife around and drove it through his throat and out the back of his neck. Again, she heard a noise from the shadowy woods a few feet away. She yanked the blade out of the dying man and pivoted in time to take the brunt of a flying sidekick right to the shoulder.
This attacker was a little slimmer than the previous and much quicker. As soon as he landed, he fired a flurry of punches. Three landed in her abdomen before she could block them. As soon as she defended her midsection, he jabbed at her face then kicked her in the ribs once more. Adriana retreated for a moment, absorbing the pain before jabbing the knife at her assailant’s chest. He grabbed her wrist and bent it awkwardly, forcing her to her knees. His elbow came down hard onto her back. The jolt and the excruciating grip on her wrist caused her to drop the knife to the ground. It was a miracle her wrist wasn't broken.
The masked man chopped down again, but she mustered enough strength to spring from the ground and somersault over the hand that held her. She landed on her feet and now had the man off guard, bent over just behind her. Adriana swung her leg around hard, smashing the heel of her foot into the side of his face. The fingers around her wrist went limp. She reached around to her lower back and found the pistol. A round was already chambered, so when she spun around and pointed it at the man’s chest as he charged, the weapon was good to go. She squeezed the trigger three times. The barrel erupted, popping loudly in the otherwise silent night. The rounds pounded the attacker’s torso, ripping through his chest cavity. His arms flailed as he wrenched side to side before collapsing a few feet from his comrade.
Adriana had no time to catch her breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another attack coming. And beside him, a second, third, fourth and fifth. All the men wore the same matching masks and outfits. She drew down on the first and sank a bullet into his forehead, swiveled to the right and sent a round through the man’s shoulder and face. The first two went down easily enough, but the other three came too fast for her to get kill shots, even from such a close range. One bullet struck the third guy in the gut and dropped him to the ground. It could have been mortal, but he’d take several minutes to die. The fourth and fifth targets were not as easy. They split up as they charged, and she was only able to wing the first until he got closer. He launched through the air at her as if to tackle her like an American football linebacker, but she spun out of the way, extended her arm, and shot him in the spine. He quivered prostrate on the ground as she turned her attention to the last man standing. He sprinted to the left, retreating to the shadows and disappearing. She pulled the trigger three more times as he fled, catching him in the hamstring with one round but missing with the other two. A twig snapped in the forest, and she fired her last shot into the dark.
She pressed the magazine release and let it fall to the ground then reached into her belt and grabbed a fresh one. It slid easily into the gun’s handle and clicked into place. She pulled the slide to chamber a new round and stalked toward a massive oak tree where she believed the final attacker was hiding. A thin stream of smoke drifted up from the gun’s barrel. In the chaos, she’d forgotten about the guard by the house, but before she could look back, the last attacker fell out from behind the tree and onto the ground, grabbing his thigh. She could see his eyes wince in pain from the wound. His pain would be over soon. She raised the weapon to give him swift mercy, but a voice from near the house caused her to freeze in place.
“Enough!”
Adriana whirled around. She instantly recognized the voice, even before she saw the man standing amid eight guards at the corner of the house. They’d appeared out of nowhere like apparitions. The henchmen all had pistols drawn and aimed at her. The Belgian was tucked away behind two of the men in the center, making him a much more difficult target. By contrast, he wore a white polo tucked into navy blue trousers. Apparently, he wasn’t stupid. She could have picked him off from that distance but only having his face as a target narrowed the margin. Nevertheless, she kept her pistol trained on him.
She swallowed, still gasping for breath after the fighting. A million words ran through her head, but Adriana could think of none to use that would convey her anger.
Martens spoke up first. “So you have come to wreak vengeance for taking your father. A completely understandable and predictable response.” He flipped something up in the air a few times, catching it in his palm. Then he held it up, pretended to inspect it for a moment, twisting it back and forth, before tossing it over the wall to Adriana.
The homing beacon hit her in the chest, but she didn’t flinch. All she needed was an opening. She considered taking the shot anyway. At worst, she’d take out the two guards nearest Martens. But the others would tear her apart. She’d be able to get off two, maybe three shots before their bullets riddled her body.
“I’m actually glad you came,” Martens went on, folding his hands behind his back. “You have proved yourself quite useful. I have to admit, the way you handled yourself during all of this… it’s been fun to watch. I’m impressed.”
“If I believed in a hell, I would tell you to go there.”
“Ah. Well, that isn’t any way to repay a compliment when someone gives it to you. Totally understandable but uncalled for.” When he spoke, his bright blond hair shook like a pale bird nest in a thunderstorm. He had to be in his sixties. The man’s hair was so light that the transition to white would be almost seamless.
“I don’t really care,” she said through grinding teeth. “You kidnapped my father. And you have no idea what you put me through. I’m going to kill you, and then I’m going to kill every member of your little billionaire club.”
Martens laughed and tilted his head back. “I doubt that. And right now, you’re in no position to make threats. Why don’t you do yourself a favor and put the weapon down so we can talk like civilized adults?”